


You'll Be Fine

by crystalemerson



Series: Lost In The Mental Estate [3]
Category: Palaye Royale (Band)
Genre: Character Death, Death, Guns, I don't wanna spoil it, I'm Sorry, It hurt me to write as much as it's gonna hurt to read, Mental Breakdown, Mental Institutions, Warning for if you don't like guns, and death, but beware
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 05:48:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30017082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crystalemerson/pseuds/crystalemerson
Summary: I'm not sure I care anymore. They were fun to mess around with for a bit, but my patience is growing thin. I think it's time to close this up, so I'll make a rule:They either live apart, or die as a family.They keep their lives if they renounce each other. Otherwise, I have no further use for them.This should be entertaining.-A.W
Series: Lost In The Mental Estate [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2108082
Comments: 5
Kudos: 5





	You'll Be Fine

**Author's Note:**

> tw: guns, death, violence
> 
> good luck.
> 
> oh yeah also remember this is in a series so it might not make sense without reading the others, though you could try.
> 
> and ty to 'RandomPun' for the word 'nefarious' lol i like that so i took it :)

Sebastian couldn't sleep. The murky grey light of his room taunted him as he lay awake, too light to sleep and too dark to read a book. It was getting close to morning and he was beginning to think that he'd never sleep. He was tired- of course he was- but the refuge of sleep danced just out of his reach.

Too many thoughts. Despite believing all that he had been told, there was still- perhaps inevitably- some doubt in his mind. The entire matter concerned his little brother, so he felt it was only normal. But it was worrying all the same; what if Warhol had lied? That was unlikely though.

Eventually, at about 5:30 in the morning, he dragged himself out of bed. He clearly wasn't going to sleep. He pulled on a dressing-gown and a pair of slippers, and trudged downstairs. He made himself a cup of tea and entered the living room where Patient X was.

Sebastian was taken aback for a second. X was curled up on the floor, sleeping. In sleep, he looked so small and innocent, just like Remington. It hurt Sebastian to see, because he knew this was likely to be the only time he would ever see the old Remington.

But the painful image did not last for long. As Sebastian made his way to the sofa, over the old creaky floorboards, X shot up in a frenzied manner, knocking his head on the wall behind him. Sebastian automatically stepped towards him, wanting to see if he was alright before he remembered who he was dealing with.

"No no no don't-" yelled X, before cutting himself off with a sigh of relief. A multitude of emotions crossed his face- relief, realization and then sadness- before he seemed to settle on one which was neutral.  
"I keep forgetting where I am. It's just you... Hi Seb," said X tentatively.

"No, DON'T you 'Hi Seb' me! You're a psychopath ! You killed my friend and you're insane and vicious and-" Sebastian burst out, but then he stopped. Patient X had buried his head in his knees, covering his ears.  
"Stop it, stop shouting, I didn't, I didn't kill anyone, I'm not a psychopath, I'm not dangerous, please stop shouting, please don't hurt me, I'm sorry, please stop it..." X was mumbling, muffled.

Sebastian huffed in frustration.  
"Alright. It's alright," he said, quieter. "I'm not gonna hurt you; just calm down." He sat down and pushed a hand through his hair, rubbing his face tiredly with the other one. What was he dealing with here? This was not what he had expected from the killer. He'd expected a violent, uncontrollable person; instead he had got a terrified one whose first thought upon waking up was that he was going to get hurt.

Both sat in silence for a while, Sebastian drinking his tea and X avidly studying the floorboards.  
"I really didn't kill anyone, you know," X finally said, breaking the silence. "I know what you heard. I read it in the papers along with everyone else."  
"Why should I believe you? I've already been warned that you lie like a professional."  
"Maybe because I'm your brother?"

"No!" shouted Sebastian, slamming his mug down with so much force that he was surprised when it didn't shatter. Patient X flinched and ducked his head behind his knees, trembling.  
"Sorry, sorry, it's fine," signed Sebastian. "Just- You're not my brother anymore. Warhol has explained this to me already, so it's no use trying to lie out of it."

At Warhol's name, X's head popped up.  
"Warhol? Since when did you listen to him?"  
"Watch your words, X. Don't become a blasphemer AND a killer."

"Firstly, I am not a killer. Secondly, it wouldn't be blasphemy if I spoke against Warhol because blasphemy is against god, and Warhol is FAR from a god. Thirdly, don't you remember what he did you to at the estate? Isn't that incentive not to trust him?"  
X's voice was rising to a shout and suddenly Sebastian could really see the 'disturbed serial killer' part of him.

"Warhol and Lieseil are good men. They want to contain you to keep the public safe, and I agree with that."

Before Patient X could argue further, Sebastian left the room. He could not allow doubt to take hold. He had to remain immovable in the decision to return X. Because he was right. He had to be.

*

Lieseil and Warhol. Those sons of bitches. Remington seethed, and glared at Sebastian as he left the room. Of course, of COURSE, he brothers' distrust towards him was planted by the Lords. Who else would create such a fucking ridiculous situation?

Remington's blood boiled. Oh, how he wanted to kill the old sods. As if sticking him and his brothers in that hellhole of an institution wasn't bad enough, now they were trying to break up the goddamn family?

When Remington had gone to his brothers, he'd expected them to welcome him. He expected them to be glad he was home. But instead, he got hostility and hatred like nothing he'd ever seen before in his lovely, caring brothers. And now, he was tied to a pipe- a fucking PIPE! And they thought he was insane; they thought he wasn't HIM anymore!

It seemed that Lieseil and Warhol had planned for everything; telling Sebastian and Emerson that he was lying liberally so they wouldn't believe a thing he said; dousing him in blood and handing him a knife just before he walked in; even KILLING people to make it look like he did it.

Goddamn, how much Remington wanted to hurt those men. He wanted to put those conniving old men through EVERYTHING he himself had been forced to endure in the past however many months. He wanted those nefarious bastards to feel EVERYTHING he-

Oh.

But this was it. This must have been part of their plan all along. Remington's brow creased as he connected the dots. Oh damn. The Lords were evil, but they were clever. Too clever.

How better to complete the story of the insane murderer than making said murderer express his desire to kill the Lords? It only built onto the narrative. If Remington said a word of the conspiracy, he would only look even more unhinged. And worse: if he said anything about his burning hatred for Warhol and Lieseil, it would only strengthen this stupid story. Fuck. They were good.

Remington was pulled out of his racing thoughts by the door to the living room opening slowly. He pulled his knees up to his chest as best he could; he couldn't trust either of his brothers not to hurt him. He didn't know who they were anymore.

Emerson's head poked around the door, followed by the rest of him as he entered the room and sat on the couch across from Remington. Remington decided against opening his mouth and trying to converse; it had only made Seb shout before, and he didn't want a repeat of that. Instead he observed his little brother, and was a little disheartened by what he saw.

Emerson was dressed up warm. Far too warm to be staying in all day (which, Remington had learnt in the arguments last night, was all they EVER did). He was clearly going somewhere and Remington could guess where.

Emerson sighed. He looked so dejected and lost. All Remington wanted to do was ask him what was wrong, and then protect him from all the evils of the world like he rightfully should as big brother. But he was powerless to do any of that when Emerson was BECOMING one of the evils of the world.

"So..." began Emerson, and then trailed off. Remington waited patiently for whatever was coming.  
"Um... Merry Christmas, I guess..."  
So THAT was the date. Remington was quiet for a few seconds, calculating. Eleven months. Eleven months he had been at the estate. Fuck, that was a long time.

"Oh- Right. Um yeah... you too?" he replied, unsure of how to respond. It was a bizarre thing to say to someone who you were planning on returning to hell on earth later that day.

Emerson looked like he was going to say more, but instead he stood up abruptly.  
"Sorry," he said shortly, to which Remington said nothing. He couldn't say it was alright, because it clearly wasn't. Emerson half-nodded sadly, as if he had expected the lack of answer, and turned to leave. Then, as an afterthought, he asked, "Wait... do you need something to eat..?"

Remington smirked humourlessly.  
"Well, yeah Emerson, I AM human," he said, and then jerked his head bitterly at the straitjacket and added, "which you seem to have forgotten."  
Emerson looked pained. "It's for the best..." he said sadly, and walked out.

"You really believe that?" yelled Remington after him.  
"Oh, shut the fuck up!" yelled back Emerson. Looked like he did.

*

They gave him some toast. He wished for Nutella, but didn't feel like asking. Every interaction he had had with his brothers had ended in shouting anyway. So he ate the dry toast, and brought up back up onto the rug ten minutes later. He wasn't used to this; maybe it was a good thing that there was no Nutella after all.

Twenty minutes later, Sebastian came in, eyeing the rug with slight disgust but vague recognition. Remington guessed that Seb had probably had the same problem getting used to things after the shitty 'food' at the estate.

Sebastian untied Remington's ankle from the pipe without speaking, and then hauled him up from the ground by the collar around his neck. Still saying nothing, he practically marched Remington outside to the car and pushed him into the back seat.

*

Emerson wasn't sure why he was coming with Sebastian to return Patient X. He wasn't really needed on the journey. All it was was a drive to the estate, and then a drive back. Nothing ceremonious or important. But something told him it would be best to go along. So here he was, in the passenger seat of the Rolls Royce as Sebastian started the engine and pulled out of the drive.

Before long, they were on the long road which led through the desert, past the sea, and towards the mental estate. The house they lived in was on the very edge of town, so it wasn't hard to get here.

"How long is this drive?" Emerson asked Sebastian.  
"Four and a half hours, give or take," the older brother replied. Emerson sighed. What was he doing here? He was trying not to think of Patient X behind him. It was simply too painful.

Remington was being quiet. He was pondering exactly how he could use these four and a half hours to persuade his brothers to turn around, but he didn't have a clue. He sighed, but the sigh turned into a sob halfway through. He had been so focused on changing his brothers' minds that he hadn't actually contemplated what it would mean if he failed. He would be going BACK. And without the thought of his brothers, he simply was not sure he could survive it again.

Sebastian drove steadily on, ignoring the sobs coming from the back seat. Emerson turned around and rolled his eyes.  
"You'll be fine," he said heartlessly.  
Remington's head shot up. "What did you say?" he hissed.  
"I said, 'You'll be fine'," replied Emerson flippantly.  
"Emerson, what the FUCK? Don't you remember what they did to you there?"  
"Well, you deserve to be there. You're a killer."  
"You didn't ANSWER. Do you remember what they did to you there?" Wind ripped through X's hair, and to Emerson, he looked deranged.

"Yes, but-"  
"What? What did they do to you?"  
Emerson didn't answer, but Remington didn't need an answer. What he needed was for Emerson to just think about it for two seconds.  
"You remember, don't you? Why are you taking me, your BROTHER, back there?"

Emerson was enraged. It seemed all so staged. The person in front of him was NOT his brother. Emerson stood up in the car, raising his fist, but the reaction from X was immediate; shrinking back and attempting to protect his head.

Emerson lost his momentum, thrown off. He slowly retracted his outstretched hand, and then slumped back down into the seat. Visions of his burning artwork flashed before his eyes, overwhelming him with unwanted emotions.

How X had shrunk back like that, instinctively, like he was USED to being hit, was a wake-up call. Emerson knew that feeling from the visits he had received every so often from Lord Lieseil, serving as his punching-bag. This was so wrong. What the fuck were they doing here? This wasn't right; Emerson really wasn't sure he believed Warhol anymore.

He threw a glance to Sebastian, wanting to ask him to stop the car, but the sheer grit and determination in the older brother's face made him hold his tongue. He wasn't sure how he would react to this.

Sebastian had heard the exchange between X and Emerson, and dismissed it from his mind already. They could argue; it didn't change anything.

Remington basked in the victory of making Emerson feel some doubt for a few minutes before turning his focus to Sebastian. The older brother was immovably stubborn when he was determined, and right now he looked VERY determined. How could Remington possibly show that he was HIM, not a crazy shell?

The scenery passed by in a blur. The ocean was just visible at the end of a tunnel. Everything looked just... peaceful. Which was the exact opposite of Remington's racing mind and jumping nerves.

"Hey, Seb?" Remington eventually said. Nothing. "Seb. Sebastian. Hey, listen to me."  
"What?" snapped Sebastian, sounding exasperated.  
"You know, I remember things. Things I wouldn't know if I wasn't still Remington Leith in my mind. Like... The last time I saw you, Warhol forced you to whip me and you collapsed and I thought you died. Or... You were trying to read the Bible backwards because you thought it would be more fun that way. Or..."

Sebastian listened as the person in the back of his car spouted fact after fact about him and the family. But all of these things could have easily been found out. Lieseil Inc. probably kept a file with all these things in; maybe X jus stole the file?

But then X said something that took Sebastian by surprise.  
"And, if nothing else convinces you, I remember when you learnt Mozart's Lacrimosa, and sung it to me when I was really sick that time when we were kids. You really can't sing..."

How? How could he know that? There was no way that would have been found in a file. No one else knew about it, not even Emerson. There was no way this could be anyone but his brother... Oh fuck.

"Oh shit," breathed Sebastian. "Shit... How could- How could I have believed that utter bullshit Warhol spun?" He heard a massive sigh of relief from both Emerson and X- no, Remington.  
"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. Jesus Christ... I was just gonna take you back and-"  
"EYES ON THE ROAD!" yelled Emerson, and Sebastian swerved, just missing a spiny, bare tree.

"I guess, don't worry about it... They're clever. I don't blame you. I probably would have believed it too," said Remington. He was just glad his brothers had snapped out of the brainwash. "So... Are you gonna turn the car around then?"

Sebastian was about to oblige when he paused.  
"But what if they're watching the house? They'll see us come back."  
"So we don't go back. Let's just go somewhere- ANYWHERE," said Emerson. He just wanted to go somewhere safe.

So Sebastian pulled the car over into the desert, off the road. He got out, and went to untie the straps of Remington's straitjacket. It didn't seem fair to make him stay in it for the journey back. As he did so, continuously apologising and trying to work out how he'd fallen for it, Remington's face morphed into the picture of utmost horror, staring at something in the distance.

"Oh shit!" yelled Emerson. "We've got company!" He watched as a black van appeared around a corner and approached at a cataclysmic speed. A black van which they hadn't noticed until now.

There was no time to react. The bend of rocks they had just passed had obscured the view of the van until the last moment. And now it was braking about 100 feet away and armed soldiers were pouring out, rifles raised.

Of course. Of COURSE. Why had they not considered the possibility of being followed?

Sebastian's body shut down everything unnecessary as he entered survival mode, leaving only adrenaline. His heart pounded at what seemed like triple speed as the soldiers approached.

"Listen to me," he said to his brothers. "When I say drive, we're going to get in and drive, okay? Don't stop. Emerson, you drive, you're fastest. Got it?" The way he spoke left no room for arguments. Emerson and Remington nodded, and Emerson slowly slid over from the passenger seat the driver's.

The soldiers drew nearer.

Sebastian looked at his two younger brothers in the car. Emerson already had his foot on the gas, and Remington, arms free, was ready to duck down for potential bullets. They were ready.

Sebastian stood between the car and the soldiers who had stopped and formed a line now.

He turned back to his younger brothers.  
"I love you," he said simply. "Now DRIVE."

He knew they wouldn't have gone if they had known. But Emerson had bad rational skills. Upon hearing 'drive' he slammed his foot down onto the gas with no thought.

Sebastian was not in the car.

He had never intended to be.

Deafening cracks rang out through the desert as the faceless soldiers opened fire.

"Go!" yelled Sebastian.

Emerson realised there was no use in arguing. He didn't stop.

Bullets whistled around Sebastian and he knew it was only a matter of seconds.

He turned around and smiled a satisfied smile, watching his brothers get to safety as his body was ripped apart by dozens of flying bullets.

*

Everything was happening in slow motion. Remington watched in pure horror as bullets that were clearly meant for all of them tore his brother apart. His ravaged body fell to the ground as the car sped away and the soldiers reloaded. It felt like the world was drenched in honey, slowing everything down.

Remington sat back in the seat, slumped down to avoid bullets, blinking slowly. Emerson was screaming something as he drove, but Remington couldn't hear it. Everything seemed... tilted. Seb had just been there. He had been right there, driving, a few minutes ago. What... what had happened?

A nasty ringing noise filled Remington's ears, followed by Emerson's yelling.  
"There's another one!" he was screaming. He was hysterical; voice hoarse and cracking with tears, eyes wide with terror and shock. Another van. There was another one up ahead. And two, running along either side of them.

Remington had just enough time to see a gunman taking aim out of a hatch, right at Emerson.

Remington jumped, throwing his body over Emerson in a movement which could only be described as aerobatic.

Blood showered over Emerson.

He pawed weakly at Remington, who didn't move.

There were more shots.

Emerson couldn't see where he was driving anymore.

Remington was a dead weight over him.

Emerson had no choice but to brake, and both him and Remington were thrown through the windscreen.

The soldiers did not stop shooting.

"Stop!" screamed Emerson, tears and blood running down his face. He made the mistake of looking at Remington.

Who had a hole in his back.

And suddenly, Emerson knew that he didn't want them to stop. If they did, he would be forced to live without his brothers.

Bullets flew relentlessly over his head.

He stood up.

**Author's Note:**

> please, i implore you, go comment and tell me what you think about this. i see you, all you 'guests' who read my works. you know you can comment too.. no pressure lol but i like to see how i made y'all feel with my writing.
> 
> this fic has been an all-consuming force in my life since December. constantly writing it, or just existing in the story to work out how it's going to go, has been challenging. but fun, in a twisted way. i've sacrificed more hours of sleep that i can count for this (as the only time i can write is at night).
> 
> i don't decide these things. they come to me. so i was just as upset as you probably are when i was informed of how it was going to end. the part of me which writes takes no feelings into consideration. if something has to happen- if someone has to die- there is no way i can change that. so here we have it. sorry.
> 
> i'll miss this. i like this work. i'll definitely be writing more in the future; i have a few ideas. and i always do oneshots. but this was really The One that i properly cared about and wanted to finish properly. and here we are.
> 
> i've never written a brainwash so i hope this was okay.


End file.
